


Mother Who Bore Me

by ArvenaPeredhel



Series: Voiceless Verse [2]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-09
Updated: 2018-12-09
Packaged: 2019-09-14 16:52:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16916667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArvenaPeredhel/pseuds/ArvenaPeredhel
Summary: As the War of Wrath brews, a reunion comes unlooked for.





	Mother Who Bore Me

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [What If It Hadn't Been Maedhros?](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16915755) by [ArvenaPeredhel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArvenaPeredhel/pseuds/ArvenaPeredhel). 



_I shouldn’t have come._

It wasn’t the first time she’d felt that way; in fact she’d been doubting her decision ever since the ships had landed. _I shouldn’t have come. I know nothing about what’s happened to my family save that my husband is dead… what if things went badly here?_ That thought made her almost laugh _\- of course things went badly here, because if they hadn’t gone badly we wouldn’t be on these shores. Regardless, I shouldn’t have come - any services I might offer as a blacksmith are nothing compared to the scorn I face for marrying, for raising my sons._

_But I want to make things right. I only hope they’ll leave me alone._

She was working on a horseshoe - people always forgot that it was her father, not her husband, who had taught her smithcraft, _everybody loves to criticize me but when their horse needs a new shoe who do they call?_  - and trying not to get too angry when she felt it. Eyes on her.

Biting back a few swears, she glanced up to see a man standing across the way. He was tall, far taller than she was, and clad in dark green. One arm was tucked into a sling, a travel-stained cloak draped over one shoulder to hide it from all but the most astute observers. A series of scars crisscrossed his face, the lines tracing jagged paths down cheekbones and nose.

And he was crying as he looked at her.

Nerdanel put her hammer down on the edge of the anvil, the tongs and horseshoe in her other hand half-forgotten. _I know him. How do I know him? Is he someone I used to see in Tirion? Is he an old family friend? He must know me, and by more than my hair, since it’s all bound up in a kerchief… he looks so familiar, what could_ - 

His gaze caught hers, and she felt herself go weak in the knees. His eyes were burning silver despite the tears, the same intensity there that had been in her husband, in her sons. She dropped the horseshoe and half-stumbled out from the open forge, across the dusty path worn down by horses and carts, until she was right in front of him. 

“Macalaurë?" 

The word was practically a whisper, and there were tears streaming down from his eyes as he nodded. 

 _Oh, Valar, what_ happened _to you?_

Somehow her heart didn’t burst.

She reached up, fingers brushing against her son’s cheek; he didn’t flinch, instead taking her hand in his and holding it still, turning his head until the side of his face was pressed into her touch. _There must be people staring_ , she thought, _because I’m shorter than him by a good twenty centimeters, because my face is smudged with coal dust and I’m still wearing my heavy apron and gloves and he’s dressed for war._

_Let them stare. It matters not._

She could see more of the scars now, and each one burned her heart. Who had dared do this to her boy? _And… and what had happened to the others? Why is he alone?_  

” _Ammë_ …“ he murmured soundlessly, and she could feel the tears in her own eyes as he began to cry. _Damn propriety right beyond the Doors of Night._ she thought, and pulled her son into a tight embrace. 

His knees buckled, and she caught him as they sank to the grassy ground. With a violent (but utterly silent) sob he fell into her arms, his head resting against her shoulder. 

"It… it’s all right…” she murmured, one hand moving to stroke his hair just as she had when he was very small and he’d come running to her after a fall out of his window or a stubbed toe. “You’ve been very brave, and I’m so proud of you.” She wondered briefly if that was the right thing to say - after all, she knew very little about what had happened to her family save that her husband had died almost immediately - and his mirthless, soundless laugh was enough to convince her she’d been in error. Yet he still clung to her, still sobbed. And not just out of relief or joy. _I know my sons. Something’s wrong._

“Macalaurë,” she said softly once his voiceless weeping had slowed, “talk to me. What troubles you?" 

He stiffened at her words and slowly sat up. There was unspeakable agony in his eyes, and a slow-spreading tendril of icy fear worked its way down Nerdanel’s spine.  His left hand came up - the right was still half-cloaked and tucked into an elegant sling - and covered his throat, and he shook his head slowly as he began to cry again.

Cold dread poured down her spine. _He… he can’t…_

"Valar above.” she said, willing her voice not to crack. _This can’t be right, I must be dreaming, something else has gone wrong, it must have, he couldn’t have lost_ that _of all things_. “What… what happened, _yonya_?” Her second oldest merely sat and stared at her. Nerdanel could tell  he was trying not to cry.

The pressure of his thought on the edge of her perception was like an itch she couldn’t scratch. Macalaurë was scrabbling for a hold, but she’d never bothered learning _ósanwë-kenta_ , the mind-speak of their people, beyond basic courtesy’s requirements; any attempts he was making at communication were doomed to failure. The yawning gap between them seemed to grow wider by the second. 

 _He can’t speak._ Nerdanel realized, and thinking it made her bones ache. _Oh, Eru, oh my son, my_ son _… if this is the work of Moringotto, I will tear down the walls of Angamando until no two stones are left joined._

“Macalaurë,” Nerdanel said again, still trembling but relishing the feel of his name in her mouth after so long, “does it pain you?” It was trite to ask, she knew it was, but she was his mother. _I have to know._

He shook his head, and that was a slight balm on her aching heart. She leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his brow, both her hands grasping his proffered one; they sat like that for a moment until she could feel the muscles tighten in his face and she knew he was fighting back more tears. _He won’t like it if he cries. He was always so determined to control everything - control how he looked, never show any emotions he didn’t choose to let us see._ Things might have changed in the centuries between their parting, but she was still going to try and preserve his dignity.

Carefully, Nerdanel shifted position and helped him stand up. “It’s all right.” she said, and she meant it. The high collar of his undershirt had come undone - one of his arms is injured, she thought, remembering the sling, he can’t fix it himself  - and she shed her gloves, tucking them into her belt, and deftly redid the top few buttons. “Truly. I promise. I’m.. I am not angry with you, and all is well now." 

Macalaurë nodded (though she could see he didn’t believe her, not really) and offered his left arm. She wiped her hands on her apron and took it, and they began to walk through the camp. 

"I came over with Arafinwë’s host.” she said, trying to fill the silence. “I decided I’d do my part to flush out the damned bastard who killed my father-in-law now that it was agreed ‘twas the right thing to do.” He winced at her words and she sighed. “I didn’t… don’t think I abandoned you.” she continued. “Please. If… if I’d been more certain of your father’s intentions, if we’d - ” He cut her off with a shake of his head. _Either now is not the time_ , she mused, _or all is forgiven. I do hope it’s the latter_. With a sigh, she leaned her head against his shoulder. He’d grown since they’d last seen one another, and was nearly as tall as Maitimo had been when they’d parted. 

“Tell me,” Nerdanel said at last, as they stood and watched the passers-by, “what happened to you?” He glanced at her, eyebrow raised, and she winced. “To your arm, I mean. Were you injured in a battle?”

His face fell, but before he could respond at all there were footsteps behind them both and a commanding but clear voice.

“It’s rude to ask such things of strangers, woman." 

The voice was unfamiliar, and yet there was a timbre to it she’d heard before. It reminded her of Fëanáro, and thinking of her lost husband brought back all the old anger. _I’ll show this haughty princeling how I managed to keep my head above water in a house of eight men_. Raising her head defiantly, she turned on her heel.

"Call me woman again and I’ll leave you bent over my anvil with molten metal in a few unpleasant place _oh_.” Nerdanel felt the words die in her throat as she stared at her accuser. _Now I know why he sounded so familiar…_

Towering above her (truly, he must have grown double what Macalaurë had) was her eldest son.

For a very long time all were silent. Neither Nerdanel nor her boys could seem to grasp what had happened. Finally, her copper-haired firstborn found the courage to open his mouth - he’d gone quite pale when he realized who he’d been so rude to - and speak. 

“… _ammë_." 

The word was cool water on her aching heart, and Nerdanel realized she was smiling despite the shock. Joy slammed into her, mingling with her pain and confusion, and she dropped Macalaurë’s arm so she could embrace her oldest (and tallest) son. 

"Maitimo.” she murmured, and he bent to let her kiss him. He was crying, she could tell, and when they pulled free of one another she lifted herself up on tiptoe to wipe the tears from his eyes with one hand.

“ _Ammë_ …” he repeated, almost trembling, “I never thought… how…”

“I came over with your uncle’s host.” she said matter-of-factly, as if they were discussing the weather. _If I stop to think about this I’ll cry and nothing will get done for the rest of the day._ “They needed a blacksmith. My father didn’t feel like coming. And I have a score to settle with the Black Foe.”

“We all do.” Maitimo said, taking her hands in both of his, and his eyes flashed with deep anger. “I’ve already promised Káno the killing blow. After what MoringoÞo did to him he’s earned it.”

Nerdanel felt the blood drain from her face. “What do you mean?”

Maitimo froze, and Macalaurë gave him a pointed look. Her eldest ran one hand through his hair.

“We… we should find somewhere private to speak of this.” he said, glancing around at the passing soldiers. “We’d rather it not become common knowledge.”

“The tent behind us is empty.” she said. “Supplies only.” When her sons only shrugged in response, the three of them made their way around to the entrance, slipping in through the open flap. After Maitimo had satisfied himself that the heavy canvas was tied down after them, he stood and turned to his mother. Macalaurë was to his right, and both were pale and serious.

“… shortly after we arrived, Father was killed.” he began hesitantly.

“I know.” Nerdanel said. This, at least, was easy to talk about. “I was told almost immediately, taunted by someone who served Námo. 'Fëanáro is dead, and he shall never be freed.’ We’ve had very little news of other things afterwards, though - once those of us who stayed behind were taunted for our previous loyalty to your father, Námo became far more taciturn to his devotees.”

Her sons’ faces were grim, and Maitimo continued speaking. “After his death, we… there was… I made a mistake.” Macalaurë frowned, almost glaring, and his left hand found Nerdanel’s forearm and gripped it; his older brother ignored him. “I was supposed to go and treat with MoringoÞo.”

“You were _what_ \- ”

“I was supposed to go, _ammë_ , because he wanted to meet with us. Because after Atar died I was High King.”

“It - you didn’t - it was a trap, surely!”

“It was, only it didn’t spring on me.” Maitimo’s face fell, and he shifted away from his brother almost ashamedly. “Káno… he wanted to go. He said he was the logical choice. Old enough and experienced enough to negotiate, but not the King.”

Nerdanel felt as though she’d fallen into deep water. _My boy… my boy was…_

“… what happened?” she asked, her voice flat and utterly emotionless. _You know what happened, Nerdanel. Do not prolong the inevitable_. Macalaurë’s left hand was digging into her arm. She could feel the tension in him as Maitimo continued.

“He… we sent him out with a full company of soldiers. We thought that would be enough, but…” He took a deep breath and pressed on. “But MoringoÞo sent greater numbers, and… and there were Valaraukar.” He winced at her sharp gasp and continued. “We found his guard cut down and dead and none could tell us where he was.”

 _I’m not hearing this._ Nerdanel thought. _This is… this is a dream, this is a nightmare, this is anything but real._

“We had no word for nearly five years.” Maitimo said dully. “Nothing was certain. And then MoringoÞo sent an envoy claiming that… that Káno was - was _alive_ …” His voice almost snapped. Macalaurë was staring at the ground, every inch of him tight and furious.

“ _Ammë_ …” Maitimo said, his eyes locked onto his mother’s face and his whole body trembling, “ _ammë_ I’m sorry, I _tried_ , I didn’t _mean_ to…”

Macalaurë was biting his lip and refusing to look at his brother, flinching with every word that came out of his older sibling’s mouth. Nerdanel felt her heart tear into pieces and shifted position, pulling her sons into her arms. Once they realized what she was doing they practically fell into her. 

The impact knocked her backwards, and she landed hard on the ground, her back slamming into a barrel as both boys attempted to crawl into her lap like they were children again. Maitimo clung to her, face buried in her shoulder; Macalaurë sat pressed against her with his chin resting in the hollow of her collarbone. Nerdanel realized there were tears in her eyes.

“I’m _sorry_.” Maitimo said again, his voice muffled by her flesh and bone. “I tried, I tried so _hard_ , I thought I did the right thing, but I went to find him and he - he was _hanging_ there - !” A violent _something_ smacked into her mind and it took her a moment to realize that the thought had come from Macalaurë, who was staring at his brother with eyes burned out by agony; Maitimo cringed and inched closer to her left side in response.

Still glaring, Macalaurë sat up and unfastened his cloak, revealing the whole of his right arm in its well-made sling. Nerdanel bit down hard on her tongue to keep from making a sound. His right hand was gone - not merely maimed or damaged but completely absent, sliced off at the wrist. And the arm it was attached to was atrophied, the shoulder at an unnatural angle.

“Macalaurë…” she murmured, reaching out to him; he was weeping silently.

“I… I had to.” The words made her flinch. She turned to face Maitimo as he spoke. His face was ashen. 

“I had to,” he insisted, “if I didn’t he would have _died_ there, I’m sorry and the worst part is that’s not all of it, _ammë_ , because I… I couldn’t… couldn’t keep them safe…”

 _What could be worse than this?_ Nerdanel thought, but she reached down to stroke his hair rather than speak her mind. “It’s all right,” she said at last, “I promise, whatever happened we can fix it, we can get through it, I’m here and I’m not leaving you or your brothers ever again. And - and Macalaurë,” she continued, locking eyes with her second son, “Macalaurë, I swear, I swear we’ll find… there will be a way to make this right, there must be.”

“There’s more.” Maitimo stammered, face still buried in her shoulder. “ _Ammë_ we… I… I couldn’t… everyone’s _dead_ and it’s all my fault…”

Nerdanel could feel her heart thudding in her chest as if struck by a dart of ice. “What… what do you mean?” she murmured, glancing down at her son.

Maitimo shivered, refusing to look up at her, and his voice was rough when he answered. “We’re the only ones left, _ammë_. Káno and I. Everyone else… they’re all gone.”

For the first and last time in her life, Nerdanel Mahtaniel fainted dead away.


End file.
